Do You Think Of Me?
by flower.thatblooms.in.adversity
Summary: As she sat, alone that dark, cold night, she wondered, did he ever think of her? The answer always came back to her as "No, he doesn't." (Story is way better than summary)
1. Chapter 1

This two-shot story you can say is a 'comparison' story between Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn, meaning that the queen mentioned in the story can be either Katharine or Anne, but I'll let the reader decide.  
I realized both queens were really similar, so I couldn't really decide on who to focus on, so I wrote about both in a way (this makes more sense if you read the story really)  
But enough of my blabbing, because I might just confuse you …. Anyways, hope you enjoy! (:

*I do not own the Tudors, or history, although I wish I owned both. (x Nor do I own the song Do You Think of Me?, by _Mariah Carey_, nor the lyrics I used in my story.*

* * *

Do You Think Of Me?

* * *

She wondered restlessly, did he ever think of her?

Did he ever think of the love they shared? Of all those passionate nights they had once shared?

She wondered if she even missed them.

"It's not likely that he does," a little voice whispered inside her head, "he has her."

Yes, he had her, that wretched wench. That stupid girl who was stealing him away from her, and she could do nothing about it. Even though he was rightfully hers, no matter what anyone else thought.

Yet, she knew these thoughts would only make her worse. They wouldn't help her, or her peace of mind.

Then he once again invaded her thoughts. He was always there, in her fantasies, in her dreams, in her everything. This would, naturally, have been welcomed, as he was her husband, but she was to upset with him to even let the thought of him cheer her.

She heard the door creak slightly, revealing one of her most loyal ladies.  
"Your Majesty, the king requests you dine alone tonight, as he will be busy," she announced lowering her eyes.

The queen didn't falter in her features or voice, she expected this. She raised her head higher to respond, not wanting to show that what was said upset her even more.

"Tell my husband," she began, her words full of false calm, "that I shall abide to his wishes, because he is my husband, and above all my king."

But even with all apparent calm she had about her, the queen could not fool her lady. Her lady noticed the tone of sadness in her voice, but the look of anger in her eyes. She wanted to comfort her queen, but it would do no good, only leaving her majesty to herself and her thoughts would bring about any comfort.

The queen sighed as he lady left the room with a small curtsey. She felt a sudden heaviness in her head, something she hadn't felt before. She decided it was her gable hood, resting heavily on her head. She removed it carefully, revealing the long flowing hair underneath it. She ran her graceful fingers through her soft hair, combing out the curls that refused to settle.

As she did this she pictured him embracing her, the way he used to. They would drift off into the love they shared, and they would leave the world behind.

"It's all just make-believe isn't it?" she asked herself, "Love is so unkind."

She silently cursed him. He was probably embracing her or some other woman tonight, ravishing the thought of having something new in his bed tonight.

She felt her face flush red with anger. Tears swelled in her eyes, but she fought to keep them there. She had promised herself to never cry again for him, it was useless after all. Tears wouldn't bring him back.

She shuddered suddenly and realized it was already night. She noticed her room darkened even more, and there was a slight chill in the room. Somehow this managed to dampen her mood even more, if that was possible.

She moved herself to the fireplace. She needed all the warmth she could get. And secretly, she wished it was his arms keeping her warm.

But she didn't just need warmth. She needed love. She felt as if nothing loved her anymore, as if she didn't matter to anyone anymore.

He had to give her love, she'd always say, he was her lawful husband, no matter what anyone said.

He belonged to her, just as she belonged to him.

She shook her head. It was a battle with her own being. She either hated him, or loved him. She wanted him away from her a lot of time, but then, she longed uncontrollably for him.

Tonight, the longing was winning. She longed for what they had most of all, for what they felt at the beginning, passion and affection.

After all, had that passion and affection provided him with an heir? Had her daughter not been enough? A daughter could be greater than many sons. A daughter could do better than any son; she was living proof of it.

Could he not see nor comprehend that she had tried so hard to give him a prince? Had he not seen how much she suffered, and how much she suffered everyday for all those efforts she made? And though the efforts had not always been in vain, as she had a beautiful daughter, they had caused her several miseries.

She shook her head, which was still pounding with pain. She figured it was because of her lack of dinner, but she didn't feel like going out of her chambers to just go dine alone. She didn't feel like facing her loyal lady again, she didn't feel like seeing anyone at the moment. She didn't even dare look in the mirror, for she knew the only thing that would show on her face would be sadness and anger.

She went to her bedside table, and got out a small red fruit and a small knife. This would be enough for tonight. She always knew keeping her favorite fruit by her side would come in handy someday, and today was the day.

She picked up the tiny red thing and inspected it carefully, before slicing it in half. She bit it with a sudden wildness, the juice of her humble dinner dripped down to her chest. She didn't care to even stop to think to eat like a lady.

She took several more bites before setting what was left down on the bedside table. She looked slowly around the room, which seemed to be getting smaller by the second. Had the majority of her days really been spent in here? She thought about not being able to see her only daughter in months. About not even seeing him for days.

But it was because of her, that vile woman. That woman who was every bit the opposite of her, which was probably why he was enchanted with her in the first place.

Or maybe it wasn't just because she was her complete opposite, maybe it was because she could win where she had failed.

She laughed ironically at the thought of that. She had not truly failed him, like he wanted her to think. He had failed her. He had hadn't filled her womb with a healthy son.

He had failed to stay loyal, to keep all his promises to her.

She hadn't truly failed him, she had after all, tried her best. And her best was a darling daughter that she adored.

He had failed to even think of her, like she thought of him. The only failure on her part was her weak heart, the one that had fallen in love in him, and had chosen to ignore his many faults.

The pangs of pain in her head continued. And she finally figured out a way to get them to stop.  
She looked for a piece of paper and her ink pot, and she began writing. Spilling out words from her mind onto her hand. Spilling out tears of anger, sadness, and a cruel irony.

After she finished, her mind felt clear. The pain in her head disappeared along with the emotions that had smudged the letters of her neat hand.  
She gave the short letter to her lady to deliver to the king immediately.

After that, she alone prepared herself for bed, refusing help from anyone. As she crawled into bed and pulled the covers up, she again felt lonely. Where was the warmth? The love? There was only that remaining feeling that she was all alone in love. No amount of written words could have emptied her mind from that thought. She turned to her side, letting a single tear fall, before falling asleep.

* * *

The queen's lady rushed to the kings chambers. She, like all others knew that the king was more than likely with one of his mistresses tonight, and he probably hadn't thought of his wife all night.

She approached the king's chambers quietly and knocked softly on his door, before sliding the queen's letter underneath the door.

She ran and hid quickly behind a doorway, and heard loud footsteps approach the large wooden door.

Then there was a complete silence before the door opened and King Henry stood at his doorway.

His expression looked blank, but his eyes shone something else. The queen's lady just couldn't figure what it said.

* * *

King Henry swiftly strode down the hall, passing countless courtiers wondering why the king was going towards the queen's chambers.

As he quickened his pace his thoughts raced to that short letter. It revealed so much to him, in all its simplicity, the smudges on the ink only told him that she had cried, which in a way tore at his heart. The woman he once loved, and adored with all the fibers of his being, questioned his affections. Although he didn't blame her, he'd often question where his heart lay as well.

Did his heart lay with his queen? Or with his lusts?

Right now he didn't dare answer his own question, but he dared answer hers.

He knocked slowly on her door, but she didn't answer. He knocked again, but as before there was no answer.

Now, King Henry was not a man of patience, it had never been his virtue, so instead of knocking again, he instead opened the door and loudly called her name.

His only response was soft breathing coming from the other side of the room. He walked over to her bed to find her soundly asleep, a mask of seeming peace embedded in her face.

He took in her form, trailing his eyes from the top of her head to where her feet lay. She was still as beautiful as ever, no amount of stress could remove that ethereal beauty from her face. Her features were still in proportion. Her body was still something a man could crave for his own. He noticed the way her soft curls fell around her shoulders and it made him want to stroke her hair and kiss her soft shoulders.

He still loved her; he always would in a way. He would never be able to erase her from his memory. He admitted that sometimes he still lusted after her, she still held him in a way he couldn't understand. But that would never be enough to cover up that she had failed him.

The king sighed as he leaned over to stroke her hair. It was just as soft as he remembered. He stroked her face with his thumb and outlined her lips softly. Lastly, he gently kissed her forehead; something he knew always thrilled her. The corners of his mouth went up slightly as he remembered that the smallest of things could thrill her.

"My queen, my wife," he whispered to her, "I still think of you, something that I could never admit to anyone but myself.  
When she touches me, I compare the gentleness of her hands to yours, more than I should. When the nights are cold like this, I too wish that we were in a sweet embrace, like the ones we shared.  
When I lay alone at night, I do think of you, very, very much, and how I long for your company much of the time.  
I still think of you, my queen. I still love you my wife."

He then kissed the lips he'd outlined softly. It was a quick and small gesture on his part, but it meant so much. It showed that what he had said was true, not that she would ever know. But he didn't mind that she hadn't heard, as long as he had said it had been enough to keep him content with himself, if only for a while.

He leaned back and looked at her bedside table. The red fruit she had left was still there. He picked up the half she had not eaten, and took a bite from it. It was sweet and full of flavor, and he admitted, was the way her lips had tasted only a few minutes ago. He set it down, and turned to leave, but not before pausing to read the small letter in his hands again.

_'Henry,_

_I wonder if you think of me, somewhere in the shadows of your mind._  
_Although our love could never be, I find I think about you all the time._  
_Am I in your fantasies? The way you always wander into mine._  
_And are you longing endlessly just like me deep inside?_  
_When the nights are dark and cold, do you think of me?_  
_And when you're lying all alone, do you think of me?_  
_When you feel the touch of another love, do you think of me?_  
_Am I the one you're dreaming of? Do you think of me?_  
_I picture you embracing me. We drift away and leave the world behind._  
_But it's only make-believe. Love can be so unkind._

_I wonder all this, because I think of you, Henry, more than you could imagine._  
_I still love you very much my king, and I always will.'_

The letter didn't end with much formality, but he guessed it was because it was not what she was made to say, rather what she felt like saying. What came from her heart, without any type of formality, without any restrains.

As he left, he folded the letter, and later in his room put it away in a book he forgot all about.

The queen never found out or asked if he had ever read her letter, nor did she ever receive any answer for any of her questions, and she remained with that burning desire until the day she sadly died.

And the man she either hated or loved never got the courage to say all he had said that night to her again. And he lived with that gnawing burning guilt in his heart for many years.

* * *

How was it? Good, bad, HORRIBLE? Please review to let me know! (:  
Again to clear any confusion, the queen mentioned in this story is either Katherine of Aragon, or Anne Boleyn. I didn't set a specific queen for the reason of being able to have you, the reader, decide which queen would most fit this story, as I could not decide on either one of these amazing women. (:


	2. Chapter 2

Epilouge

Tonight was bathed in complete darkness and was chilled by cold winds, and somehow he felt like if he had lived it before.

There was an eerie feeling to it though, as if tonight was just too familiar.

Wind rustled the curtains, and chilled his body. He turned to face the window, and was enveloped by a sudden warmth.

The warmth against his skin felt irresistible. He couldn't get enough. It felt like … her arms.

The arms he had almost forgotten all about, but he still remembered how they had felt. He closed his eyes, taking in the heat against his arms. When he opened them again, there she was.

He stammered back. There was no way she could be here … she was, dead.

He shook his head, thinking she would disappear, but she didn't. She began whispering in her smokey, dulcet voice, causing him to come closer to hear a voice he hadn't heard in years.

"Henry," she spoke to him, "I still love you, and I never stopped … even when you did."

"No," he began, "I still love you, somewhere deep in my heart, I know this is true."

"True? You lie to me still, even though I cease to exist physically, you continue to hurt my spirit and soul?"

He looked closer at her. Her eyes were warm but firm, her face seemed relaxed, she was beautiful to say the least.

"My queen, I must apologize for all the pain I caused you, but you have to understand me. I was a foolish man then, one who thought that a male heir was all he needed."

She chuckled sarcastically, "You still think that. Which is why my daughter isn't in line for the throne. I gave you an heir Henry, and you cast her aside. But she has grown into a strong girl, you should be proud of her. Are you proud of her Henry?"

"I am very proud of her. She is a joy to have for a daughter."

"It doesn't seem that way to me sometimes Henry."

"Is this why you've returned, to chide me? To remind me that I have not been the best father to our daughter all these years?"

She looked him fiercely in the eyes. "She is my blood Henry and yours too. You should have treated her better all these years. I may still love you, but my daughter matters more to me."

Henry sighed. He didn't know how to respond to her. Here she was, telling him all his truths. Showing him the error of his ways.

"If I treat her better, will that make you happy?"

"It would. She is my world, like she used to be yours. Like I used to be yours. Like you continue to be mine. Oh Henry, please don't forget about your daughter, she loves you, and needs you. Don't let her down, like you did me. Don't ever forget her, like you did to her mother."

With those last words she disappeared.

He looked around after her disappearance. It was bone cold, but nothing seemed to tell that she had been here. It had been in his mind, he thought, but when he looked his table he wasn't so sure.

There on the corner of his grand wooden table, her favorite red fruit laid.

He walked over to pick it up, realizing it hadn't been there before. His hand fumbled in grabbing onto it, resulting in her fruit rolling to a bookshelf in the corner.

It bumped into the bookshelf softly, and stayed still. He briskly walked over to pick it up, and gasped when he saw what was under it.

Her letter.

It was just as he remembered it. Her dainty handwriting, smudged by long dried tears. As he read those words again, he could hear her sweet voice, tainted with sadness in the words.

After he finished, he fell to his knees and began to cry.

He had never told her how he felt. He had been a coward to never actually say it to her face. She had never known. And know it was no use trying to tell her, she was long gone. She only existed in his memories now, haunting his mind with that guilt that had never gone away.

He had been cruel to her, in many ways, but not letting her be with her daughter had been the worst.

He would make that up to her, he would be a good father to their daughter, like he had promised to her memory. He would do that all for her, because in the end, he had never stopped loving her.

He had never stopped thinking of her.

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Short epilouge to finish. Sort of like the cherry on the cake. (:  
Hope you enjoyed this Two-Shot? I think it's a two-shot, if that's what's it called. If not it's just a one-shot with an epilouge. Lol. (x  
Read & Review, please? C: & Thank You.


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